


The Spice of Life: a Bridget Jones Fic

by eggsbenni221



Category: Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding
Genre: F/M, Gen, Holiday, Humor, Love, Other, Romance, Surprises, Valentine's Day, relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-20
Updated: 2012-10-20
Packaged: 2017-11-16 18:23:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/542480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggsbenni221/pseuds/eggsbenni221
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Valentine's Day- Mark and Bridget are newly-weds, and Mark has cooked up a rather spicy surprise. (not specifically movie universe, but I've lifted bits of dialogue from both films).</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Spice of Life: a Bridget Jones Fic

The Spice of Life

  


by Eggsbenni221  
Word Count: 2,567  
Rating: M  
Summary: Valentine's Day- Mark and Bridget are newly-weds, and Mark has cooked up a rather spicy surprise. (not specifically movie universe, but I've lifted bits of dialogue from both films).

Disclaimer: the author does not own these characters; they are the property of Helen Fielding. No money is being made with this work, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Acknowledgements: [](http://sfaith.livejournal.com/profile)[**sfaith**](http://sfaith.livejournal.com/) gets full credit for inspiring this plotbunny.

The title is subject to change; I'm open to suggestions. I made a few changes in the editing, so please feel free to point out any typos or grammatical errors (or any other constructive criticism). I do not offend easily.  
  


"Oh, once in your life you find someone  
Who will turn your world around  
Bring you up when you're feelin' down.  
Yeah, nothin' could change what you mean to me.  
Oh, there's lots that I could say  
But just hold me now  
'cause our love will light the way."- Brian Adams, "Heaven"

 

\---14 February---

Mark smiled to himself as he fiddled with the controls on the dashboard and dialed his home while backing carefully out of his parking-space. Despite a long day of traveling, he was in surprisingly high spirits, and they lifted even further when the phone on the other end of the line was answered.  
"Hello?"  
"Happy Valentine's Day, Mrs. Darcy."  
"Mark!" exclaimed Bridget in a tone of delighted surprise that made him smile even more broadly. "I didn't expect to hear from you until much later; I figured you'd be busy."  
"I'm between meetings," Mark said quickly, endeavoring to suppress the note of amusement in his voice as he imagined how his wife might react if she knew the truth. "How has your Valentine's Day been?" He asked.  
"Lonely," admitted Bridget. "I miss you."  
"I know, love. I miss you too. I wish it could have been otherwise, but you know, great legal brains are in high demand."  
Bridget sighed. "I know. I understand. I just wish we could have been together for our first Valentine's Day as, you know,"—she let out a giggle—"smug marrieds." Mark had unexpectedly spent the last two weeks in New York working a rather difficult case that, thankfully, was finally at an end; he had originally been scheduled to return to London on the 16th, but circumstances had enabled him to conclude his business earlier than planned, allowing him to arrange to fly home today. He had, of course, conveniently neglected to mention this slight change in his itinerary to his wife; that was the point when planning a surprise, after all.  
Turning his mind back onto the conversation, he said, "So do I, but we have an entire lifetime of them ahead of us."  
"I knew there was a reason I loved you," said Bridget.  
Mark laughed. "Just the one? You wound me, Bridget."  
"All right, maybe I've got a list of reasons," she admitted.  
"That's more like it. Listen, sweetheart," he paused. "I must go. I'll call again later. I love you."  
"Love you too," whispered Bridget.  
Still smiling, Mark ended the call and placed a second, drumming his fingers on the steering-wheel as he waited for the phone to connect.  
"Hello?"  
"Tom, it's Mark."  
"Mark, hi. Are you back then?"  
"Just got in," said Mark. "Listen, is everything under control?"  
"Never you fear! Bridget doesn't suspect a thing," Tom assured him. "She thinks I'm coming round for dinner to keep her company."  
"Perfect," said Mark.  
"I felt a bit guilty lying to her about that," admitted Tom.  
"No offense, Tom, but as much as she values your friendship, I fully intend to distract her from that minor disappointment in a few minutes."  
Tom chuckled. "That was a clever idea of yours though, Mark, suggesting that."  
"I thought the prospect would cheer her a bit—distract her from thinking about being alone."  
"You really love our little Bridget, don't you," observed Tom.  
"You know I do, Tom," Mark said with sincerity. "I suspect you wouldn't have let me marry her in the first place if you didn't."  
"You're bloody well right we wouldn't have," said Tom. "No more emotional fuckwits for our Bridget! You hear that, Mark Darcy?"  
Mark laughed. "I think you'd better check to see that Sharon hasn't succumbed to sudden violent death, because I think you might be channeling her spirit."  
"Yes, well, we look out for our own, you know."  
"Yes, Bridget and I are fortunate to have you all in our lives."  
"OH, stop! You're going to make me cry!"  
"Well, I'm just about home, so I'll let you go, but I just thought I'd call and thank you for keeping up the charade."  
"Not at all," said Tom. "You children behave now," he added sternly.  
"I'll be a perfect gentleman, I promise," Mark said solemnly. 'Or not,' he thought as he ended the call and pulled to a stop in front of his home. He entered the house quietly and crept upstairs to relieve himself of his luggage and attaché case before going off in search of his wife. Judging from the surprisingly enticing fragrances wafting toward him, he found her, as he had expected, in the kitchen. He lingered in the doorway, allowing himself a moment to admire her as she stood with her back to him, apparently stirring some type of sauce. She wore faded jeans and one of Mark's old sweat shirts; her feet were clad in thick, wool socks, and her hair was loosely tied back.

"Good evening, Mrs. Darcy," Mark said in a low voice. Bridget let out a squeak of surprise and spun round, dropping the spoon she held in her hand; it skittered across the floor with a clatter. She stared at him in disbelief for several moments; then flew across the room and into his arms.  
"Mark!" she squealed, throwing her arms around him and nearly knocking him off balance. Regaining his equilibrium, he pulled her to his chest and returned her embrace with equal fervor.  
"Mark, what are you doing home? I didn't expect you for another two days!" Bridget exclaimed when they finally drew apart.  
Mark smiled down at her. "Surprise, darling." He pulled her closer and buried his face in her hair. "Oh, Bridget, how I've missed you," he murmured.  
"I've missed you too," whispered Bridget, tucking her head beneath his chin.  
"But I hope you weren't expecting anyone," he said suddenly, gesturing around the kitchen at the evidence of the elaborately prepared meal.  
"Well, actually, Tom was planning to come round," said Bridget. "To keep me company," she added when Mark affected a look of perplexity. "If you'd told me—"  
"Bridget, the point was not to tell you. It was supposed to be a surprise. Honestly, you have no sense of spontaneity."  
Bridget rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. " _I_ have no sense of spontaneity? This from the man who folds his underpants before he goes to bed." Mark laughed.  
"Are you hungry?" asked Bridget.  
"Starving," he replied.  
"Good. You're home just in time then."  
Ignoring her, Mark slipped his hand beneath her sweat shirt and reached to unfasten the hook on her bra as he began to kiss her.  
"Mark!" Bridget squealed. "Wait a minute!"  
"Yeeees?"  
Bridget arched an eyebrow. "Nice husbands don't rip they're wives clothes off in the middle of the kitchen and make mad passionate love to them while they're trying to fix dinner."  
"Oh yes they fucking do," Mark growled against her throat.  
"Well," Bridget acquiesced, "as it's a special occasion, we might as well indulge ourselves and have starters," and she immediately went to work unbuttoning his shirt. With a groan, Mark roughly pulled her closer and pressed himself between her legs, his momentum thrusting her back against the island in the center of the kitchen. 'Good god, this is a bit…improper,' he thought as he cupped Bridget's left breast in his hand and tilted his head toward her, hesitating with his lips hovering just inches above hers. Bridget responded by tightening her arms around his neck and pressing herself against his erection. 'Hell, why not,' he thought, yanking at the waistband of her jeans. 'Propriety be damned!' In one quick, efficient motion, he relieved her of the garment and boosted her up onto the counter top before hastily moving to switch off the stove and shedding the remainder of his clothing as he did.  
"Talk about safe sex," laughed Bridget as he slid onto the counter beside her, pulling her roughly to his chest. His shirt drifted to the floor as Bridget tossed it carelessly over her shoulder. Repositioning himself, he gently raised her knees and hooked them above his shoulders before lowering his head and touching his tongue to the already warm, wet bead between her legs. Using his fingers to tease back the light tangle of curls, he caressed her with tongue and lips and teeth and was rewarded with a low moan of pleasure. Bridget clenched her fingers in his hair, and his name fell from her lips in a cry of ecstasy that made his own body shudder with arousal.  
"Mark!" she gasped, gripping his shoulders in a tugging gesture that was all too familiar to him in their lovemaking ritual. Quickly he slid upward and covered her body with his.  
"Hang on," he panted. "This is going to take a…bit of maneuvering."  
"Get on with it!" gasped Bridget. Mark didn't need to be told twice. He braced himself on his elbows to steady his balance; then roughly took hold of her hips and drove himself into her. Bridget was coming quickly, her nails digging into Mark's flesh, her back arching as she wrapped her legs around his waist and pivoted her hips forward, urgently beckoning him deeper inside her. He obeyed her body's invitation, matching her thrust for thrust.  
"Bridget," he moaned, lapping his tongue along the hollow of her throat before lowering his head and catching her hard nipple between his teeth. Her body trembled as she climaxed, and as he found his own release, their mouths came together in a long, deep kiss. With one last shudder, Mark rolled off of Bridget, forgetting his current position and clutching the edge of the counter to keep from losing his balance.  
"Bloody Hell!" he exclaimed as he collapsed in a tangle of limbs across her breasts.  
"I support innovative techniques for enhancing the bedroom experience as much as anyone," he groaned, "but remind me why I thought that was a brilliant notion."  
"Mark?"  
"Mmm?"  
"I think you might just have shagged me in the middle of our kitchen."  
"All evidence would seem to point to that conclusion, yes," said Mark. "So," he added, raising an eyebrow, "I think you might have to revise your previous statement about—what was it?—my being incapable of doing anything potentially spontaneous or affectionate."  
"I think you might be right," whispered Bridget, trailing her lips along the curve of his shoulder. Suddenly she raised her head, a teasing glint in her blue eyes. "I suppose you still expect me to actually feed you," she said.  
Mark laughed throatily. "What do you say to dinner in front of the fire, Mrs. Darcy?" Before Bridget could respond, he slid off of the island, landing lightly on his feet and scooping her up in his arms to carry her from the kitchen.  
"Mark, my clothes!" Bridget squeaked as he set her down on the drawing-room sofa a moment later.  
"Formal attire is optional in this establishment," said Mark with a mock bow. "Besides," he added cheekily, "I believe I requested a view with my reservation."

They ate before a merrily crackling fire, snuggled on the sofa beneath a blanket, occasionally pausing in their meal to snatch quick kisses or brush their fingers across the backs of one another's hands.  
"I suppose I ought to have rung Tom and told him not to come," said Bridget. "Though it looks like he's stood me up anyway."  
Mark smiled. "Forgive me, but I took the liberty of canceling your date earlier this evening. I didn't think you'd mind."  
Bridget glanced questioningly at him. "You-what? But you couldn't have. Not unless you-wait, did Tom know you were coming home today?"  
"Everyone knew," said Mark. "Tom, Jude, Sharon—"  
"Everyone? Even my mother?"  
"Well, not exactly. This was a secret operation, after all. I was dealing with highly classified and sensitive information. If I'd told your mother, she would have told my mother; my mother would have told Una Alconbury; Una would have told Penny Husbands-Bosworth, and the next thing you know, the whole of Grafton Underwood would have heard the story. By the time a gargled version of it reached you, which no doubt it would ultimately have done, you'd have been expecting me to whisk you off to Paris in a hot air balloon or something."  
Bridget laughed. "Yes, you're probably right, but why the elaborate charade?"  
"Well," said Mark, tracing his thumb in circles across the back of Bridget's hand, "I thought you might be feeling lonely today, and in any case I needed to ensure you'd be at home, so I asked Tom to act as decoy and, hold down the fort, as it were, until I arrived. I thought the prospect of not having to spend the evening on your own might cheer you, not to mention discovering that you'd actually be spending it with your husband instead of your—what does Tom call himself?—'hag fag'."  
Bridget's eyes sparkled in the firelight with the glimmer of tears. "Oh Mark, that was so thoughtful of you," she murmured.  
Setting their empty plates aside, Mark gently slid Bridget's wine glass from her fingers and pulled her onto his lap.  
"I'm so glad you're home," she whispered, wrapping her arms around him.  
"Bridget," he said huskily into her shoulder. She understood, and the next moment he felt her hands, warm and soft between his legs, her stroking fingertips sending delicious tremors through his body. He repositioned himself to allow her easier access to the area where he most craved her touch, but he didn't suppose she needed any direction as she took him in her hand, her movements keeping time with his quickening breathing. As he closed his eyes and let his body sink into the cushions, Bridget slid lower, trailing kisses along his chest, then his stomach, and finally, with a quickness that left him slightly dizzy, she took him in her mouth. Mark lost himself completely in the explosion of sensations triggered by Bridget's touch; with hands and lips and tongue and teeth, she drove him nearly to the edge of consciousness. As he felt his body shudder with the waves of his climax, his hands slackened their grip on Bridget's shoulders, and a low, guttural moan of satisfaction escaped him. He didn't know for how long he lay there, drifting dazedly on the ebbing tide of his arousal; he resurfaced to full conscious awareness only when he felt Bridget's hair tickling his face.  
"Better?" she asked.  
"Mmmhm," he mumbled. The long day of travel followed by the double round of lovemaking had left him utterly spent, in every possible sense.  
"Poor Mark," murmured Bridget, brushing the back of her hand against his cheek. "You must be tired." He nodded. She sat up, slipping an arm beneath his back to cradle him against her. She retrieved the blanket that had slid to the floor and draped it over him, bending to drop a kiss on his brow. Warm and sleepy, snuggled in Bridget's arms with his head resting on her breast, Mark finally felt he was home. He wanted to tell her he loved her, but his exhaustion was already pulling him toward unconsciousness, and he managed only an incoherent murmur.  
"Love you too," Bridget said softly. Mark searched in the folds of the blanket until he found Bridget's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, and with his fingers still linked with hers, he drifted off to sleep.

The End


End file.
